otherwise admirable production of Mr Galsworthy's 'Justice' at the Court Theatre. The performance was in all respects so finished and truthful that actually when the audience had applauded the speech of the defending counsel, I looked for a rebuke from the judge, with the declaration that there must be silence in the court. It was a triumph of sincerity and art. And then, at the end of the scene, the curtain was raised to show criminal, accusers, and counsel, with even the judge in his high seat, standing and bowing. At once the play was voided of sincerity, and his lordship, the learned gentlemen, the poor forger, the jury, were converted into mummers and painted puppets, and were no longer the living reality their art had asked them to be.

It seems that everybody's doing it! No matter how deeply the emotions are stirred, no matter how complete the triumph of the illusion, back we are brought at the end of every act from Elysium, from Illyria, from Bethnal Green, from the centre of illimitable seas—to the narrow compass of the crowded Pit; and simply because those high souls were not really communing with the eternal verities, or living the brave, poor life so cunningly depicted. No, they were merely play-acting, making pretence. What fools we feel that we must have become to get lost in an illusion and made to feel pride, or grief, or mirth, or doubt, through that now-evident organised sham! The dramatic is the only art that wilfully destroys its effects. I beg producers to insist on an absolute rule, that no such interruptions shall be tolerated until the course of the play is run; and then that the parade shall be not with the scenery as background but before a plain curtain, so that those of us who want to avoid what usually is a boring spectacle may depart.

If there are calls so clamorous as to be irresistible at the end of an intermediate act, then, until the public has learnt better, let the concluding tableau be continued, or the action carried a stage further as sometimes has been done. Do not let the actor come out of his characterisation even for a moment, as, though we are moved by the titanic woes of King Lear, a victim on an universal stage, colossal and timeless, it is not reason enough for us to be bothered by the presence of the particular

Mr Crummles who has just been enacting him. The happiest and best of these concessions made to the insistent demand of the audience for the inter-act anticlimax of persons, was arranged by Mr William Collier, a welcome American actor, who in a farce, On the Quiet,' produced at the Comedy Theatre some years ago, at his every appearance when 'called,' found a dropping curtain instantly obscuring him. The audience, after the first rebuff, enjoyed the novelty and laughed their delight; but I suppose few actors and actresses would be sufficiently free from vanity to be willing to join in that amusing game.

After sincerity in the presentment, the next requirement of the renewed theatre is better acting-more of the acting that looks like life. There are any number of downright excellent players who are not given a chance. Men like the late James Hearne and M. R. Morand-I mention the dead, as to illustrate from the living (which could easily be done) would be invidiouswere generally out of work, although they were so finished in their art, and versatile, that they could sink their personalities in a character and throughout their performance be other than themselves. Their talents were not appreciated by managers who preferred to advertise names'; there was no publicity for that sort of cleverness in the puff-paragraphs, and so it is, even now. Many women and men who have passed their apprenticeship in the arduous schools of the provinces and are able to act anything-Laertes, Brutus, Smike; Rosalind, Mrs Malaprop, Topsy-are ignored, while some pretty Academy demoiselle or youth is preferred; with the result that hardly any West-End theatre of recent years has not displayed examples of elegant and complacent incompetence.

Not that I deprecate an academic or other institutional training. What I do protest against is the assumption of parts by men and women who, while evidently able to imitate accents, postures, gestures, as taught them by conscientious and laborious professors, are not, through apprenticeship, or practice, or their gifts of nature, fit yet for the parts they have assumed. Amateur is still the word for them-amateur with pretensions. Not long ago I saw a Miranda, who was no

more in keeping with the poetry of 'The Tempest' than a marionette would be. She looked pretty, in a manner too modern for Caliban's island, and spoke her words patly as if she had learnt her part nicely-right hand up-now smile-now drop your eyes-dainty and unconvincing! Better the 'squeaking boy' whom Shakespeare suffered and doubtless bullied into good workmanship, than these bobbed inanities.

The extension of repertory theatres is bound to improve the quality of the acting, because of the variety of parts to be played and the freedom from staleness which must result from an uninterrupted long run; while from the actor's and the public point of view, surely it were better if something like the old stock companies, with a greater security of employment, could be restored. I remember the late Robb Harwood-an all-round excellent actor-saying how greatly he would prefer a regular engagement at ten pounds a week for forty weeks of the year to the customary practice of being in for an uncertain time on a much larger salary and out for a limitless time on nothing, It is not merely the irregular economic results; but it is the moral havoc of resting-or rusting-for long periods, that does the harm. How can an artist retain his self-respect when he must wait and look, search and so often fail to find employment; while the days and the nights go by and dreaded old age comes nearer? Of all the professions, the Stage for the rank and file is the most cruel. Overstocked with people who must appear well-found, welldressed, and comely, yet, subject to a casual engagement and the luck of the run, they are the sport of the bitterest chance. Although the Actor's Association has done much to mend the evil, it can do comparatively little as things are. Restore the popularity of the theatre, weed out the incurable incompetents, and there will be hope for its true representatives.

Regular employment in a stock and repertory company must improve the self-respect of the actor, and enhance the quality of the performances. Such is necessary if we are to see theatres reopened, picture palaces reconverted back, with every kind of legitimate stage performance flourishing anew. Managers must, however, give more for their patrons' money. The quantity

of the fare provided at present cannot satisfy the honest playgoer. Beginning at 8.30, or afterwards, and with generous intervals ending before eleven o'clock; what is that for an evening's reward? Such policy is enough to keep people away, and it does deprive theatres of audiences. It is not worth the trouble of the trainjourney or, indeed, the price demanded for the seats. Contrast the niggardliness of one small comedy, often running for a bare hour-and-a-half of action, with the entertainment provided for our fathers. Curtain up at 7 or 7.30 for a farce, followed by a melodrama, or it may have been such brave stuff as the tragedy of 'Hamlet' or 'Richard the Third';, with a musical extravaganza afterwards, and another rollicking farce to send the audience home happily! There was an enthusiasm before and behind the curtain then which helped a play's success. The acting went with gusto. Bad as much of the work must have been and execrable the scenery (as measured by modern standards), the performance had the merit of go and sincerity; while, the circumstance that a tragedian had, of necessity, before enacting his great rôle to play some minor part in a farce, and possibly to conclude the evening as the hind legs of an elephant, made him no worse an Othello or Romeo for that.

Doubtless, it was very hard work, and often fell to bathos and absurdity; but the theatre was greatly alive in those not so distant days. The audience met the players half-way; and fine actors, like the late James Fernandez, who, in the beginning, with the doubling of characters, might have had to play twenty to thirty different parts in a week, for a salary of fifteen shillings, learnt their business and proved their quality in articulation, deportment, movement, co-operation, sense of character, and all else that makes the complete player. We have almost ceased to look for, or to expect, such combination of qualities in any particular person in these degenerate days, when, owing to the extravagant rents and salaries, often a play is a failure if it runs for less than three hundred nights.

One good result of a more generous programme would be the encouragement of playwrights and especially of the useful, though sadly neglected, one-act play. The

old-fashioned curtain-raiser was generally a poor thing, and so indifferently acted that it could only be regarded as evidence of the contempt with which the earlier arrivals at a play-house-in other words, the occupants of the unreserved seats in Pit and Gallery-were regarded by the management. Such contempt, or indeed, any kind of contempt, of followers, however humble, within the Commonwealth of the Theatre is bad, and is bound to react on the misdemeanants. For the success of a play needs the support of all parts of the house, the poorer as well as the wealthier, especially as often the occupants of the reserved seats are what is called 'paper'; and better the appreciation of a half-crown enthusiast than the pale approval of a 'deadhead.' Any number of good one-act plays exist with which to begin and end an evening; but they do not get a chance. Mr José Levy's seasons of Grand Guignol at the Little Theatre, proved that, although his choice was practically limited to superlative thrills and ironic comedy, there still is plenty of material available in esse and in posse when it is really wanted. But the art of playwriting cannot be encouraged without the artist's reward-production; and every dramatist needs the experience of seeing his work alive upon a stage if he is to make the best of his gifts.

The cost of producing these little plays is comparatively small; the actors are available already in the company and eager for work, the younger members especially would be glad of an opportunity of showing what they can do; while the playlet keeps the audience amused. If the occupiers of the more expensive seats do not care to eat their food earlier for the sake of the opening play, they still can arrive in time for the principal piece, and, doubtless, will appreciate it the more because the house and the actors had already been warmed.

The curtain-raiser, however, must be really excellent and well done. It would cause more harm than good to fob off upon the audience nowadays, as often was done before, some old-fashioned out-of-copyright farce which had come to the seeds of age before Victoria was Queen. If the management regard the Theatre as a home and temple of art and give their best to it, there can be no question of the all-round rewards to follow, and soon